You Need Us
by autismmom31910
Summary: Based on the episode "St. Gilligan and The Dragon". The men ponder what the women of the island mean to them and they're real reasons for not building them they're own hut. Also contains references to "Home Sweet Hut". Story title and cover photo is taken from the episode "Don't Bug The Mosquitoes".
1. Chapter 1

**_Hi all, just another short story I've written in response to an idea I had while watching some episodes of Gilligan's Island. I had intended for this to be a one-shot, but I don't like to write large chapters. I like to break things up into smaller chunks to make it easier for the reader. Anyway, this story takes place during the episode "St. Gilligan and The Dragon", with a few references being made to "Home Sweet Hut". Hope you enjoy_**

 _Two whole days._ Gilligan thought to himself. _The girls have been gone for two whole days. I sure do wish they would come back. I miss them._

Gilligan swung back and forth in his hammock as he thought about how lonely it was without Mary Ann, Ginger, and Mrs. Howell. If the other guys had just built the hut for Mary Ann and Ginger like they promised, they wouldn't be in this mess.

For the last few weeks since arriving on the island, all seven of them had been living under one roof. That was, under one roof separated by blanket walls. Well now it had come to the point where Mary Ann and Ginger wanted a little privacy. Who could blame them? They weren't free to talk about whatever they wanted. They had to be extra careful when getting ready for bed. Besides that, three single, lonely men were just right around the corner.

They deserved their privacy too. However, Gilligan felt that Mr. and Mrs. Howell deserved the privacy even more than Ginger and Mary Ann. For Mr. and Mrs. Howell were married, and though Gilligan wasn't one hundred percent certain about what married people did... he at least knew that there was an element of privacy to it. There were certain things only married people did, and only married people talked about. Well, at least that's what his parents had told him anyway. The Skipper had given him a much more detailed talk about "The Birds and The Bees" than Gilligan had cared to listen to. With that being said though... he definitely knew the Howell's had to have their own hut, and soon.

Gilligan was exhausted. He was now taking a break from all the laundry he and the Skipper had done, which hadn't turned out well. That first day, Gilligan had scrubbed some of the clothes so hard that he had created holes in some of the Professor's shirts. The Skipper had poked himself with a needle as he had tried to help the Professor thread it. Of course, the Skipper wouldn't have jabbed himself if Gilligan hadn't been in his way trying to help him do it. He had also gotten in trouble that morning for spilling guava jelly all over the Skipper, as he fought Ginger for the bowl she was trying to pull away from him. That's when the strike had began, that morning when they had been complaining about not having their own hut. This led the men to saying some very stupid, very chauvinistic remarks... which led to Mrs. Howell convincing the girls that they could do better on their own. She told them about Lysi...Lysiti... oh yeah, Lysistrata, a play about a Greek woman who gets all the other women to ignore the men. That's when the three ladies decided to strike out on their own.

It had been nothing but trouble since they had left. Torn clothes, burnt food, awful tasting food... and boy, were they sure lonely. Gilligan rubbed his aching muscles. The girls had nearly beaten him and the Skipper black and blue with bamboo poles, as they had tried to scare them in a hideous looking beast costume made of seaweed and ivy. The girls weren't stupid. They saw right through the disguise and called them out on it.

 _Oh boy, we sure did have alot of dumb excuses for not building those huts. Why didn't we though?_ Gilligan wondered. He couldn't speak for the other guys, but he knew exactly why he didn't want the girls to have their own hut. He needed them.

Gilligan had thought it was so neat when Ginger Grant had boarded the Minnow. It was the first real star he had ever met. Although she was fairly new to Hollywood, and most of her films were either aired as the late, late show or the second feature at the drive-in, Gilligan had goosebumps when meeting this semi-famous actress. He had great admiration for her, and it had been fun to get to know her and listen to her stories about Hollywood. It had marveled Gilligan that she wasn't a stuck up snob... she was really genuine and sweet. It was nice to hear her voice of a morning, floating on the tropical breeze. She practiced her scales every day... and many times it was the highlight of Gilligan's day as well.

He couldn't bear the though of Mary Ann leaving either, for next to the Skipper, Mary Ann was his best friend. They talked about everything and pretty much did everything together. They would talk late into the night through their blanket wall until either Ginger whined for Mary Ann to "go to sleep", or the Skipper would yell at him to "pipe down and get some shut eye". They would patiently wait until everyone was asleep, then start their conversation once again.

Mrs. Howell was like another mother to him. Gilligan had always been close to his mother, and it had been hard for him when he had joined the Navy. It had been even harder when he had decided to move to Hawaii to be the Skipper's First Mate. Now though, it was almost unbearable to be on this deserted island with no one else in the world knowing where they were, and none of them knowing if they'd ever leave this place. It was always so nice that when Gilligan would have a nightmare, Mrs. Howell would come rushing over from behind her and Mr. Howell's blanket to comfort him.

"There, there, dear boy," she would say as she patted his head.

Gilligan hopped up out of his hammock, knowing there was more work to do... well, there was much of it that needed redone. He and the others had seemed to do a terrible job taking care of themselves. Boy, did they need those girls. Surely soon the others would see his point of view.

...

The Skipper stood on the shore of the lagoon, skimming stones as if he were a young boy in front of a creek. _What a crazy couple of days it has been._ The Skipper thought to himself. It had all started yesterday when Mary Ann and Ginger began to harp on them about not having a hut of their own. They had shelter... what more did they want? In anger, they decided right then and there to go on strike. Why couldn't women listen to reason. The Professor had already explained to them they had more important things to do. They were still getting a feel for this island, scouting it out for wild animals and inhabitants, the Professor was continually running daily experiments to make sure the plant life they ate was safe, and Mr. Howell... well, Mr. Howell was Mr. Howell after all. One couldn't expect much out of him. Oh, if only he hadn't laughed at Ginger's comment about women having equal rights. Perhaps the girls would have stayed, if Howell hadn't put a bee in the bonnet of his own wife. Leaving had been her idea.

In frustration, he skimmed another stone, only with more force this time. He knew Howell wasn't the only one to blame. The Professor just had to go and say, "historically, it's the men who decides what should be done". Like a moron, the Skipper had whole-heartedly agreed with him. Now he was finding out that women were quite capable of making their own decisions... and they were all suffering for it.

Oh, he knew he was to blame too. He and the Professor had been the first ones to laugh as Mary Ann struggled to drag a heavy sledge hammer along with her. That being the only tool the girls had to build a hut of their own. Not only that, they had mocked their send off. Before that, he himself had made the prediction "they'll be back before nightfall". Well, it was day two and they weren't back yet. Trying to scare them hadn't even worked. Though he hated to admit it, those gals were much tougher than he given them credit for.

It was miserable, the four of them trying to do the cooking, the cleaning, the laundry, the mending... he hadn't realized how hard those women worked. This was especially true for Mary Ann and Ginger. Mrs. Howell didn't believe in manual labor. He had considered going to find them right then and persuading them to come back, but quickly changed his mind. It was not in his nature to cower to a woman, now or ever. With stubborn determination he was going to stick this out for as long as necessary. They needed to learn their lesson. They've made their bed, now they were going to have to lie in it. That's just the way it was.

The Skipper sighed, knowing deep down none of this was the women's fault. It was their fault. After all, they had been promising to build a hut for them... just as Howell had been promising to build a hut for his wife and himself. They didn't have more important matters than the hut... they just didn't want to. As for the Skipper, it was nice having everyone all together. This island was foreign and unfamiliar. He had honestly thought the closeness would create a sense of community, a sense of togetherness. At first, it had been the most practical option to protect them for a storm that was heading their way. As the weeks went on though, the Skipper truly believed that one hut was the safest and most sensible and practical option there was.

However, that wasn't all of it. There was the matter of one Miss Ginger Grant. What a crush he had on her! More than being a neighbor to him, she was just right around the corner. The only thing that separated them was a military blanket hung up over some rope. The Skipper had often day dreamed of it being late in the night and perhaps the blanket would slip and fall and they would find their way to each other. Or perhaps, some animal might come in and frighten her. She would break down the blanket barrier and go running to his arms. It was almost too much for the Skipper to take in. One thing he had never told anyone, and probably never would, was that at night when she and Mary Ann were getting ready for bed by lantern light... the Skipper could make out her silhouette. Of course, he justified this by telling himself that he couldn't really see anything. It was just her shadow after all. What had made him feel guilty about the whole thing would be the times he would bite down on the bill of his Captain's hat to stifle a moan. An old salt with his reputation on an island with three uninterested ladies were not a good mix at all.

Then there was Mary Ann. She was such a sweet girl. The Skipper didn't think it would be safe for her and Ginger to live all alone. Why, what would happen if they had their own hut and a tribe of headhunters or cannibals stole them away in the middle of the night as everyone else slept. At least with being under the same roof, there was the assurance that one or all of the men would wake up should an intruder come. The Skipper was quite fond of little Mary Ann. He imagined if he had been a family man he might have liked to have a daughter similar to Mary Ann. He couldn't bear the thought of her befalling some tragedy because she wasn't properly protected.

The sun was getting ready to set. Soon they would all be heading for bed... even the women. What were they doing for shelter? Was Mary Ann afraid? Was Ginger cold and lonely? How was Mrs. Howell fairing? She wasn't used to the elements of the wild. Heck, she wasn't used to anything except for extreme comfort. Could she really make it out there? The Skipper pondered this as he headed back to camp.

...

The Professor lay on stomach on the cot he had built. He tried to close his eyes and sleep , but he couldn't. He kept thinking about how hungry he was. Gilligan's fish stew was an absolute abomination... never mind the fact that he had forgotten to put fish in it to begin with. Then Mr. Howell turns dinner into ashes. He wondered why the Skipper hadn't done the cooking and left the laundry to Gilligan and himself? After all, the Skipper had been a Navy cook for a short time before rising in the ranks. Perhaps the Skipper didn't want to leave Gilligan alone with him. The man could be quite a handful sometimes... but more than likely he was sure that the Skipper believed he would give Gilligan instructions he couldn't understand.

He knew he shouldn't have made that crack about men getting to decide, and he shouldn't have laughed at Mary Ann's attempt to drag the sledge hammer with her. All it had accomplished was to make the women more determined than ever to try and make it on their own.

It made no sense to him... absolutely no sense at all. Why weren't they happy with the way things were? They were living in a very well constructed hut. It provided shelter from the sun, shelter from the wind, and shelter from the rain. If they were ever to be attacked, perhaps the men could barricade the door with their bodies. It was the most logical thing in the world for all of them to stick together out in this wilderness they found themselves in. Of course a few weeks ago the Professor, along with the others, had attempted to build their own huts. The attempt had been an utter failure. Without Gilligan and the Skipper there to give instructions, they none had any idea what they were doing. Each hut had fallen apart one by one, and thought they tried to blame Gilligan for it they knew it was their faults this time. Luckily, the seven of them had just enough time to rebuild their large communal hut before the storm came.

So that was how it had remained for weeks. He and the other men just kept procrastinating and ignoring the girls' pleas for a hut of their own. Everything had reached a boiling point the other day when Mrs. Howell had mentioned the ancient tale of Lysistrata. She had told the girls that Lysistrata had gotten all the women of her village to ignore their men completely until they had gotten what they wanted. Now as he observed, he couldn't help but notice Mrs. Howell's emphasis on the word "completely". Of course she had looked in Mr. Howell's direction, but she certainly had meant it for all the men. What was Mrs. Howell getting at? Did she assume that the other men fancied a liaison with the two single women? Surely not! Gilligan wouldn't know what to do with a girl even if he had one. Perhaps she meant the Skipper. The Professor had seen the looks he would give Ginger. Ginger would welcome those looks with a smile or a batting of the eyelashes. Whether she had desired to act on those suggestive glances, the Professor did not know. Not that it mattered to him anyway. Ginger was a fine looking woman... witty, charming, talented. However, science was his lady love. There were too many things to be explored, too many of life's mysteries to solve, to many things yet to be discovered. On an island like this he could very well spend the rest of his life researching and exploring all the botanical life it had to offer and not even scratch the surface.

He sighed as he pondered how he had just switched his train of thought from Lysistrata to Botany. Focusing back on the matter at hand, he realized that plants weren't all he had been studying. He had been studying the women too... but not in a perverted way. He liked to study their differences, their mannerisms, the way they handled things differently than the men. For example, something as simple as a belch. Gilligan could let out a belch at the dinner table and all the men would be laughing about it. Not the women though, no they'd wrinkle their noses and reprimand Gilligan for being rude. A belch was a natural bodily occurrence. Everyone did it. So, what about it made it funny to the men and offensive to the women? That was the thing he had been trying to figure out from his Psychology books. Why did the men shout when they were angry, but the women would resort to tears and the silent treatment? Also, why did the men see the birds of the island as food and the women saw them as pets they could coddle and love? These were the things that turned the gears of his mind. However, now he would have to just keep on guessing. The women had been gone for two days and he didn't know when or if they would be back.

The Professor's musings had been interrupted as Mr. Howell had entered the hut with his teddy bear.


	2. Chapter 2

Mr. Howell trudged into the hut with his beloved teddy in tow. He was absolutely exhausted. He had never worked so hard in his life. While he had only attempted a couple of times to put a meal together, he had never before done that much physical work. That's what a private chef was for. He climbed onto his cot, noticing that the other three men were already settled in.

How he missed Lovey. She was more than his wife, she was his everything. He and Lovey did everything together. She was the only person on that blasted island who understood him. She could relate to how manual labor was the equivalent of torture in his eyes. She was understanding about him needing his teddy bear at night time. He was completely dependent on her in knowing which pill to take and when. Although he had told Gilligan that he didn't understand women either... even after twenty-two years of marriage, he did have a pretty good understanding of his wife. He knew that she was used to being pampered and tended to. However, when push came to shove, she could be a real spitfire. Her determination for her and the other two women to make it on their own would not be deterred. If only he hadn't laughed at Ginger's comment about women having equal rights, then expecting Lovey to laugh with him. It was the dumbest thing he ever could have done, or so he thought.

After Lovey had told the girls about Lysistrata, he had made the comment, "Confucius say, woman who stand on rights sometimes get left". That had been the final straw. After that, all three women went to go pack so they could find other living arrangements. Mr. Howell had thought that Lovey had been kidding about Lysistrata... after all, Lysistrata and the women of their town had ignored the men in every fashion. Completely. Oh, how Lovey knew how to hurt a man! Now she was gone, and Mr. Howell didn't know if she would be back.

If only he had built her that hut like he promised then she wouldn't have left. The whole argument would have been between the two young girls and the other three men. He and Lovey could have sat back sipping drinks as they watched the others quarreling about the issue. He knew why he hadn't... he was lazy. Lazy was a word he never would have associated with himself. He would have simply said that physical labor was beneath him. After all, a Howell was wealthy, cunning, and wise. They deserved to be served by others. However, another thing he didn't want to admit to his wife was the fact that he simply didn't have the know how. He would constantly have been asking the Captain for his assistance... which Mr. Howell refused to stoop to that level. While the Skipper had done everything in his power to make them comfortable and safe, it was still his blasted fault that they were on that island. A good Captain would have turned the ship around at the first clap of thunder. No... he'd be darned if he asked that tubby bag of wind for help. That was just the kind of ammo the Captain needed to prove his point that Mr. Howell didn't have half the know how he thought he did.

Also, Mr. Howell had reasoned, if he and the misses had their own hut that meant they would have to take care of it themselves. Up to this point, Mary Ann and Ginger had been taking care of nearly everything that was of a domestic nature. Actually, that wasn't quite true. Gilligan, Skipper, and the Professor all took care of their own sections of the hut. It was only Mr. and Mrs. Howell who acted as though they needed help picking up after themselves. Graciously, Mary Ann and Ginger had just automatically taken care of the Howell's portion of the hut along with their own. Neither he or Lovey was familiar with housekeeping. From infancy on up, both of their families had been used to being waited on hand and foot.

Mr. Howell was tired. More tired than he realized. He cuddled his beloved teddy close and shut his eyes. Although his mind was still on overdrive, his eyes were heavy enough that he couldn't stay awake a minute longer.

...

The Skipper groaned as he got up from his hammock to wake Gilligan. He had been roused from a sound sleep and one heck of a dream when he heard Gilligan uttering the words "Ole'! Ole'!". Gilligan must have been dreaming about being a matador, which was fine. Gilligan often had very imaginative and vivid dreams. Only the Skipper wished that Gilligan would do it more quietly. He had woken up the whole hut. Not being able to sleep, all four of the men headed outside and built themselves a fire. They all must have been thinking about the girls as well.

The Skipper's dream had been very nice indeed. He smiled as he recalled it. In it he had been a Sultan. Mary Ann, Ginger, and Mrs. Howell had been part of his harem. Now the Skipper wasn't the best when it came to recalling world history, but he was no fool. He knew that a king's harem usually had one main purpose... to gratify their husband. As the ladies had danced around him, he had clapped his hands to summon them. That was when he had made a request to Ginger.

"I have an itch."

"Where?"

"It is pleasant wherever you scratch."

He began to psychoanalyze his dream as if he were the Professor. As a man, the term itch could mean something other than a literal itch. In his case, he knew exactly what kind of itch he had. He began to realize that any signal, any show of affection or interest that Ginger might show him would be gladly welcomed. It's not likely that would ever happen... but if it had, he was desperate enough to accept it and not complain. The Skipper became irritated with himself. He had never resorted to desperation. He was ashamed of himself that he had sunk so low. Even though the other two women were in the dream, he assumed the dream had been mostly about Ginger. He didn't want Ginger back just to scratch an "itch". He wanted her to come back because he missed her. He missed Mrs. Howell and Mary Ann as well. Not only did he miss their domestic abilities, but he missed them.

...

The Professor pondered his dream over and over. He knew why he had the dream. It was because they had just been talking about the women. It was the nature of the dream that had him puzzled. Why on Earth had he dreamed he was a famous Hollywood personality? He didn't care about the world of entertainment all that much. He never had a desire to be famous... unless he had been recognized for some future discovery he might make. Nor did he wished to be fawned over and pawed at by women. Or did he?

In the dream, he had been a famous celebrity. Mary Ann, Ginger, and Mrs. Howell had been overly zealous fans. When he appeared, the girls began to paw at him, ripping the clothes off his back. The Professor thought about this a moment. Perhaps the women ripping off his clothes resembled their constantly wanting something from him. Specifically they were always wanting answers like "Professor, is it safe to eat this?" or "Professor, do you have any ideas how we can get back home?". Some people might have been irritated by the constant questions, but the Professor loved it. He loved whenever Mary Ann would innocently inquire about this or that, truly wanting to find out his thoughts on things. He loved how Ginger would become engrossed with whatever he had to say. If one thing could be said for Ginger, she was certainly a great listener. It thrilled the Professor when Ginger would sit on the edge of her seat, taking in ever word. Mrs. Howell, was constantly praising him on how smart he was. For as much as he thought the ladies needed him, he found he needed them equally as much. Their questions, curiosity, and confidence in his knowledge was a driving force that pushed him to keep exploring, to keep doing experiments, to keep doing research. After all he couldn't let the ladies down. He might have told them what an inspiration they were to him, that was if they had been there.

The Professor sighed, hoping the women would be back soon.

...

Mr. Howell recalled the dream he had just had. He was being pampered head to toe by the women. Ginger massaging his temples, Mary Ann, buffing his nails, and Lovey painting his toe nails. He thought about his dream, one he had thought was so lovely, and realized it hadn't been a very nice dream at all. Instead of being by his side, his dear Lovey was stooped at his feet. Not only that, but she had been ok with the seductive way the other two girls were tending to her husband. Not only that, but she had been ok with the look of pleasure on her husband's face. Not in a million years would Eunice Howell ever react in such a fashion. Being a wealthy man, quite a few lovely young ladies had tried to get into his pocket book. They never stood a chance with Lovey. She would approach them, tell them off, and order them to leave her husband alone.

Lovey had begun to pour champagne over his feet as if he were some sort of god. Some god... he couldn't even build a simple little hut. He needed his wifey to tell him when to take his medicine. She had been the one to have packed for this trip. If it hadn't been for her, things would have been more primitive for them then they already were.

He missed his dear wife. Mr. Howell knew deep down the best kind of pampering he could hope for was the tender, loving care that Lovey showed to him every day. He thought she couldn't survive without him. The truth was, he couldn't survive without her.

...

Gilligan had pondered his dream. It had been a fun dream. In it, he had been a bull fighter, one called a Matador, as the Professor had explained to him. In it Ginger, Mary Ann, and Mrs. Howell were all dressed in Spanish attire. Each one had given him gifts. Ginger had given him a sword... well, the sheath it came in was meant to be for a sword, but all it contained was a little knife. Mrs. Howell's was a bouquet of thorn laden roses. Mary Ann's gift was a hat. He smiled as he recalled the way the three women had come charging at him. He was brave and confident as he waved his red cape in front of them. They had no power over him. He wasn't afraid to be in their presence, but quite the opposite. He was in charge. They came running when he beckoned them. After all, what kind of Matador would tuck his tail and run at the first sign of danger? A dead one, that's what. His dream had allowed him not to be sucked into any of their shenanigans, such as sweet talking him into doing whatever they wanted. This, of course, was mainly Ginger's territory... with the way she flirted and tried to kiss poor Gilligan whenever she wanted something. However, that didn't get the other two off the hook either. Mrs. Howell knew how impressionable Gilligan was, so she would pull the maternal card. She was the eldest lady on the island, so naturally some of the other's looked to her like a mother... Gilligan included. Oh, how she would call him a "dear boy", or pat his head, or listen to his woes... just like a mother would. Mary Ann's secret weapon was the coconut cream pie. It was Gilligan's favorite, and it was delicious. However, Gilligan realized that Mary Ann had another secret weapon that he hadn't considered until now... her lovely doe like eyes.

The thought of Mary Ann's eyes had caused Gilligan's heart to flutter for a moment. Is that what the Skipper meant about "the birds and the bees"? He sure did miss Mary Ann though. It had been odd that morning not to hear her sweet voice call, "Breakfast is ready! Come and get it!" The ladies had to come back sooner or later. Didn't they? Gilligan's thought were interrupted by the sound of the Skipper's voice.

"I think were're doing just fine without the women," he had said. In turn, Mr. Howell had proudly proclaimed that he had figured out a way to take his medication without missing any of them... he would take one of each every hour. The Skipper had assured him that the women would be back anytime now, then got to thinking about how long they had been gone.

As quoted by Gilligan, Mr. Howell, and the Professor, they had been gone exactly sixty-one hours, forty-two minutes, and eleven seconds. One could tell by the tones of their voices that every second of it had been agony without the women. Even the Skipper had to admit that he missed the little ladies too, yet he didn't know what could be done to bring them back. Gilligan knew, and the answer was quite simple... admit that they had been wrong and ask the women to come back. The solution was so simple, in fact, that Gilligan wondered why no one else thought of it first.

"Never!" The Skipper had scowled.

"Absolutely not!" The Professor declared defiantly.

"I'd rather die!" Mr. Howell had proclaimed. However, after given a moment to think about it, he changed his answer and said, "well, there's no reason to be stubborn. I miss my Lovey." All the other men agreed that this time they would have to cave if they had any hope of the women coming back.

They made their way to the girls' camp and Mr. Howell volunteered to be the first one to try and reason with them. After all, he was the only married man on the island. He had more at stake than the other three. Besides, Mr. Howell had reasoned, since Lovey was his wife it might be a bit easier to get her to come back... then the other two would follow. He reasoned that perhaps Lovey was missing him as much as he had been missing her.

It didn't turn out that way at all. As he was coming to call on them, one of them had soaked him with a bucket of water. As he returned to his cohorts, they greeted him with looks of surprise over his drenched nature. Little did the men realize, as they were trying to come up with another plan, the girls had left their little shelter to spy on what they were up to. In the distance, behind some bushes, lay a large, wiggling, bubble like creature. The girls couldn't make out what is was, though they were fairly certain that it was the men trying to scare them again. They laughed and pointed at it.

Ginger, who had turned around to look behind her. She was surprised when she saw the men standing there. If they were over there... then what was that in the bushes? Her eyes went wide with fear as she realized that this wasn't some prank. There was something out there! Urgently, she began to tap Mary Ann and Mrs. Howell on the shoulder. Once she got their attention, she pointed to the men behind her. Just as Ginger had done before, they stared at the men, then back to the bushes. As the reality of a real, live beast being out there began to sink in, the three women shrieked as they ran to the men for protection and shelter... Mrs. Howell behind Mr. Howell, Ginger behind the Professor, and Mary Ann behind Gilligan.


End file.
